


Ghost of You

by foxjar



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Twins, Amamiya Ren and Kurusu Akira Are Twins, Death, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Neglect, Supernatural Elements, Tragedy, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 01:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21171530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/pseuds/foxjar
Summary: After Akira loses his twin brother in an accident, he's left to pick up the pieces of himself.





	Ghost of You

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: ghost.
> 
> I had the Good Charlotte song in particular in mind for the title/story.

It was August when it happened — "the incident," as everyone started calling it. So sudden, so tragic. Akira remembers it well because it was the first time he's ever been sick during summer, and it was when Ren died.

The day started off like any other as Ren crept his way into Akira's bed, pulling back the sheets just enough so that he could crawl in beside him. It hadn't mattered to him that his brother was sick. It never did.

Fingers brushed his lips before Ren leaned in to kiss him. His fever-addled mind and morning breath didn't bother Ren, either — no matter how tired it made Akira, no matter how listless. Then hands wandered, fully waking him from his daze, beneath his shirt and over the front of his pajama pants.

Ren always wanted him in the morning. He refused him that day, pushing him away; he didn't want to spread his sickness. Ren laughed, high and clear, and said he was already infected. He didn't push the issue, though, and instead, he tucked Akira back in before preparing for school.

As he was heading out, he stood in the doorway for a while as if he had forgotten something — or was waiting. This was always when they exchanged their "I love yous," like it was a portal from their own world and into the beyond.

But Akira didn't say it, head pounding from his fever, and neither did Ren. Then he was gone from the room and from Akira's life.

Akira remembered a few hours later when he woke up that he hadn't said their usual goodbye. He decided it was fine because he could just say it later. There was always later.

Ren texted Akira, reminding him to take his medicine, just moments before the car hit him. It was his own sort of "I love you." His own sort of goodbye.

If they were different, Akira wonders if his brother still would have died.

Their father was around so little that he never bothered trying to tell them apart. It wasn't that he couldn't, it was just that he didn't care. Ren often raised a fuss about that, venting his frustration while Akira bowed his head, accepting their father's neglect. It wasn't anything new, after all, and while a part of him always wanted to be acknowledged, it wasn't something he could change. Ren's yelling never helped, even as he demanded their father to look at them. They both worked so hard in school to make him proud, but it never amounted to anything.

It was their mother who always mentioned there was a spare bedroom as if the thought had never occurred to them. Even as teenagers, when they decided they wanted to stay together, she would mention how odd it was that they wanted to live in the same room.

Maybe things would have turned out differently if they had listened to her. Maybe they never would have kissed that first time in a rush of sadness, swept up in one another because they were all they had.

* * *

A few months after Ren passing, Akira's phone breaks. Although the data is salvageable — photos and videos — it's that final text message that upsets him the most.

_Remember to take your medicine, okay?_

Akira would often scroll through his phone just to look at the words encased in its small chat bubble, but now they are confined to a lone word file on his computer. It isn't the same, just black words on a white background that he can easily change. If he wanted to, he could have his brother say whatever he wants.

_I love you._

_I'll be home soon._

It isn't the same when he can choose what Ren will say. It's been so long since he last spoke with him that he's started wondering whether his memory is even accurate anymore.

_Would Ren really say something like that?_

Although immortalized through technology with pictures and videos, it's different. His bed is always freezing now, even before summer slipped into autumn. The chill wraps around him like a cloak, pinning reality to the forefront of his thoughts.

_Everything is so different now._

_And yet…_

He doesn't feel alone. If anything, he feels his brother all around him: in every room, every sound, every sensation.

If Akira hadn't attended Ren's wake, portrait displayed amidst the sea of white flowers, he might've been able to tell himself that his brother is just on a trip. If he wasn't forced to say goodbye, maybe he could have held onto that idea. While it isn't practical, it isn't hurting anyone, either.

Akira just wants to see his brother again: to see his smile, hear his laugh, hold him tight. One day would be enough. That's what he tells himself, anyway — just one day to say all the things he never said, one last day to make love till the sun rose.

But he isn't given that. Instead, he is bestowed with an eternity of a freezing bed, and after his phone breaks, it somehow feels even colder. The chill creeps up his back, a rush of cool air, and instead of petering out, it wages on, curling around his stomach. If it weren't so cold, it'd almost be like someone's arms wrapping around him. But then the icy sensation dips below the waistband of his pants, and he gasps.

This is different. He tries to sit up, but something holds him down, pressing him into the mattress. His arms flail at the suddenness — of being contained in such a way — and he knocks his glasses off of the nightstand, cringing as they clatter against the floor. Other than the heaviness of his breath, it's the only sound that breaks through the stillness.

Then the coldness is brushing up his chest, circling his nipples in a way that only Ren ever did. No one else would know; no one else was close enough.

"Is that you?" Akira asks, room devoid of life other than himself and the frigid wave. It dips inside his pajama pants again, this time sneaking its way into his underwear, and it's so cold but it's so real.

It's the most intense feeling he's experienced since before Ren died. He bucks his hips, hands pulling at the sheets as the agonizing chill wraps around him. His tears are ice in his eyes; even if this is Ren, the sensations are too much for him. It's far too cold, whatever it is — then, as if reading his thoughts, the chill pulls back. It swoops back in after a few moments, telling him it's still there, then out again to the edge of the bed.

When Akira reaches out to it, he can feel it: a mist without form, slipping through his fingers. He has so many things to say, but now that the time has finally come, he's at a loss. The words he's held inside him for months now have dissipated, leaving him with a longing for touch.

"You told me you'd never leave me," he says. "You promised."

The coolness meets his forehead, curling up into his hair. An apology.

Akira pulls the blanket back over himself, eyes searching for some shape in the darkness to confirm his suspicions. There's nothing, just the warmth of his breath meeting the air in a puff of steam.

"It's okay. I just wanted you to know that I never blamed you. Not once."

_I blamed me._ Words unspoken lie on the tip of his tongue, but he figures whatever his brother has become is beyond such pettiness now.

Ren is dead, and it doesn't matter how much Akira agonizes over the loss. Blaming himself hasn't brought him back, and he can't help but wonder if he's being punished.

Something cold brushes against his lips — his brother begging him not to worry.

"Will you still be here in the morning?" he asks. Another icy kiss, and then, "Will you stay with me forever?"

Akira imagines the coolness on his scalp is Ren's hand, patting him. Comforting him. He presses his face into the pillow, closing his eyes. Tomorrow is already looking brighter, a breath of fresh air in the most unexpected way.

Even in death, Ren keeps his promise.


End file.
